Sunday, January 20, 2013

The Grand Circuit

Since July I’ve been planning a grand voyage that would take
place around the holidays. I would start
in Antananarivo (the capital), then pass by Morondava to the west, head down by
sailboat to Tulear in the Southwest, then travel up to Isalo, Fianartsoa, then
finally end up back in the capital before returning to my site in the Northwest. My partner in crime: health volunteer Ryan
Farkas. I choose him as a travel companion based on the fact that he pronounces
bag the same way I do, being a fellow
Minnesotan. The travel would occur
within a three week time frame under a Peace Corps budget: a great adventure was
in store for us.

December 23rd:
After being told that the taxi-brousse was already fully reserved the other day
(a lie) I was told to come back the next day before other passengers filled the
car. I ended up waiting five hours in
the most foul-odored taxi-brousse station in Madagascar. After two years I still can’t outwit the mpaneira’s
(middle-men who are responsible for finding passengers for taxi-brousses). He wanted a guaranteed customer was all.

sitting in an empty taxi-brousse waiting for it to get full

Since the more direct route to Morandava has not been
renovated it requires that I go far south of Tana past Antirabe before heading
northwest. As I was lingering between a
half-conscious state and peaceful sleep I felt the driver plunge the van into a
ditch, attempt to dodge boulders, and trees before coming to a complete stop. Entana (passenger items in the van) are being
flown astray all around us. There seemed
to be little shock amongst passengers as they climb nonchalantly out of the
battered vehicle. I on the other hand am
outraged. There appeared to be a
fatalistic acceptance of what just happened as I asked people around me their
feelings towards the situation. “It’s understandable
[he just risked our lives] he’s tired,” was what I was getting. After expressing my opinion in the most
courteous manner… I’m sure, the sofera (driver) compromised that he would rest
and in the meanwhile someone else would take his place.

Finally I arrive in hot, hot, simmering hot Morandava to
Ryan’s place, but not before my taxi-driver attempts to hike my fare up. No matter, I’m in my desired designation in
one piece on Christmas Eve.

December 24th:

Ryan taught me how to gut and scale a fish. He’s become somewhat of an expert after
living several months in a northern coastal city. Our Christmas Eve dinner was delicious
although being not-so traditional. We
had eggplant and potatoes; with steamed fish; topped with a cold, crisp Gold
(Malagasy brand) beer. I feel that half
of the goodness of travel comes in the form of food.

We join Ryan’s neighbors at a Christian service this
evening. I wasn't quite sure but
there seemed to be a reenactment of the nativity scene, equip with costumes and
props. The female church group, who all
made matching outfits, lead the congregation in song and prayer. It was a bit nostalgic sitting in church that
evening, since it brought back memories of many past Christmas Eve’s at mass
surrounded by festive décor and poinsettias and listening to the choir being
accompanied by bells. It’s nice
celebrating Christmas with another American.
It helps mitigate feelings of homesickness.

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Peace Corps in Madagascar

Hello my name is Christina, since 2011 I have served with Peace Corps as a Community Enterprise Development advisor in Madagascar. This blog is meant to chronicle my journey for the 27 months of my life abroad. I hope to share with you as well as to grow from my own reflections.